"No," she said. She let the curtain fall open so that the pale daylight illuminated her naked body. "If you want me, come and get me."

She saw his eyes widen. He did not need to be invited twice. With a roar he leaped from the bed, reaching for her, but Lucy was too quick for him. She flung open the bedroom door and was away down the stair, her bare feet pattering on the wood. She could feel him close behind her. She dashed into the dining room, ran around the table, making the china clatter, and out again, then into the parlor, where Robert caught her from behind. His arm was across her bare stomach and his body was hot at her back. He was panting. She could feel he had the most monstrous erection again. She rubbed herself against it and felt him give a growl low in his throat.

"Damn it, woman," he said. "You're insatiable."

Lucy giggled, feeling deliciously wanton. "Can you not deal with me, my lord?" she murmured provocatively. "Too old? Too tired?"

In response he pushed her forward so that she was leaning over the rickety old piano, her breasts pressed against the cold shiny wood, palms flat on the top. She felt his fingers at her slick opening, then his cock.

"I have always said that you are so talented with this instrument." He slid into her and she gasped at the invasion. He felt so big and this was so new and different, the sensations deeper and fiercer, the need in her all the wilder for it. She pushed back against him, feeling the cold slide of the wood against her breasts, back and forth, and the push of him deeper still as he drove into her. He held her hips and took her in hard thrusts that had her gasping. The piano strings quivered and resonated to each jerk of her body, a cacophony of tumbling sound that built and built. Robert's thrusts were inexorable, pushing her deep into ecstasy. She came in a blind spiral of rushing darkness, wanting to take him with her, but he drew back.

"I can wait," he murmured.

She thought he would release her then, but he was relentless. He took up the rhythm again, catching her around the waist, holding her body still for his plunder. It was sublime, glorious. She clung to the smooth wood, bracing herself as he rocked deeply inside her, meeting each thrust as he drove her closer again, lifted her higher. She loved the sheer carnality of it, the way her breasts jolted with each plunge of him inside her, the stretch and clench of her belly, the utter wanton physicality of it. It was another revelation, pure lust, blazing and flagrant in its demand.

Her orgasm caught her sharply, raking through her, making her shake. She heard Robert shout and felt him spill himself deep inside her, the final lunge of his body catching her again and sending her spinning into bliss beyond ecstasy. She slumped into his arms, the echo of that same ecstasy still resonating through her.

She was shaking, her legs unsteady, and he picked her up and carried her across to one of the armchairs, where he sat down with her on his lap and started to kiss her again, sweet and gentle, the corner of her mouth, the line of her jaw, the hollow of her collarbone. She snuggled close and breathed in the scent of his skin, the heat and the sweat and the faint sandalwood soap smell that made her head spin in slow circles.

"The Highland Ladies Bluestocking Society did not teach us to use a piano thus," she said, pressing kisses against his chest. Her palm was splayed over his heart and she felt the rumble of his laugh deep in his chest.

"I'm exhausted," she murmured.

"It serves you right." Robert brushed the tangled hair away from her face and kissed her gently, his lips lingering on hers now with tenderness.

"You're cold." His touch was warm on her chilled skin as he picked her up and carried her back up the stairs to their bedroom. "Let me warm you."

He laid her on the bed and slid in beside her, drawing the covers over them both. Lucy could feel the aching tiredness in her body that was the aftermath of sheer pleasure.

"I love you." She kissed him.

She did not awaken again until the room was bathed in high sunlight. Robert was dragging on his shirt and cursing that he was going to be late for a meeting with the harbormaster. As he came back to the bed to kiss Lucy with lingering passion, she saw Sheena slip into the room with her breakfast tray. She felt almost too decadently exhausted to eat and drink.

Sheena was picking up her nightgown and indicating by silence and delicately raised eyebrows that she had noted the tumbled state of the bedclothes and Lucy's air of dishevelment. The maid placed the tray on the nightstand and walked over to the Armada chest, rummaging around in its depths.

"You'll be wanting this," she said. "I noticed you hadn't been taking it. That's foolhardy and dangerous, if you'll pardon me, madam. You must have known this would happen."

Lucy looked up from her cup of hot chocolate. Sheena was holding in her hand a little pot. At first Lucy did not recognize it, but then she remembered with a queer jump of the heart the tincture of pennyroyal.

She remembered that frightened girl, haunted by the past, and felt a huge pang of compassion for her.

"Actually," she said, "I don't want it. I don't need it. I'm not afraid anymore." And she felt a surge of excitement and happiness wash through her.

Sheena's eyes had opened very wide. "But, madam," she said, "you can't take such a risk! You must have it!" There was a note of panic in her voice as she held the pot out to Lucy. "I'll get you another tincture," she said rapidly. "In case you are already enceinte. No one would know." Then, pleadingly, "It wouldn't be safe for you to have a child, madam. Think of what happened to your sister! Please listen to me-"

"No," Lucy said firmly. She got up and took Sheena by the arm, drawing her over to sit down on the bed. The maid's face was crumpled as though she was about to cry. She was shaking. Lucy felt shocked; she had had no idea that Sheena too had been plagued by the fear that she might lose her mistress, but the maid had been nurse to both herself and Alice. It made perfect sense.

"Sheena," Lucy said gently. "I understand that you want to protect me. You've done so since I was a baby. But there is nothing to fear. I promise you."

It was clear to her that Sheena did not want to talk about it anymore. The maid's expression was stony, her lips set in a tight line.

"Very well, madam," she said. "We'll speak of it no more." She grabbed the tray and started to tidy away Lucy's chocolate cup despite the fact that the drink was only half-finished. Lucy grabbed a piece of toast before Sheena whisked herself and the tray around the door.

Later, when she was dressed, Lucy picked up the little pot of pennyroyal and slipped it into the pocket of her cloak. She walked down to the cliffs, feeling the tug of the breeze on her cloak and the first warmth of the sun. She stood on the edge and threw the pot over. She hurled it as far and with as much force as she could, and heard it bounce off the rocks below, before the wash of the sea swept in to take it away.

It felt good.

The sun was strengthening in a blaze of gold. Lucy stood with her face upturned to it. For a moment on the breeze she thought she could hear Alice's voice and Alice's laughter. The sound no longer haunted her through the dark. There were no more waking nightmares, only the memory of Alice dancing in the sunlight. She could feel Alice's presence beside her still but it was a gentle ghost now.

Lucy opened her heart and let her memories of her sister fly free.

CHAPTER TWENTY.

LUCY WANDERED ALONG the beach, taking off her shoes and stockings and feeling the sand cool and damp between her toes. It was odd how she felt every tiny physical sensation these days; she was aware of scents as never before and noticed every taste and touch as though it were new. It was such a change from her previous life where she had lived in books and in her rational mind. Now she still loved her reading and her writing, but her life had the dimension of the senses, as well. She felt as though she had come alive.

The previous week had been perfect. The sun had shone and Golden Isle had lived up to its name. Robert had been persuaded to take some time away from his work rebuilding the estate and had joined her for a picnic at Golden Water, the tiny loch that gave the island its name. They had ridden together over the high hills and bathed in the sea. Even now, as summer was coming to these northern islands, the seawater was so cold it was shocking, but there was one protected cove where the pools were warmed by the sun. Lucy smiled now as she remembered pulling off her clothes and plunging into the green depths of the water completely naked. It had been a memorable afternoon.

And they had talked. As they lay in bed one night Robert had told her how his grandmother had been the only member of his family who had continued to write to him, in defiance of her husband, during his years in Canada.

"She will like you very much," he predicted, as he pressed kisses against the soft skin of Lucy's throat and down to the hollow between her breasts. "When my work is done here I shall be proud to take you to Methven."

Lucy had wondered then about that work. She had seen the boats to Findon coming and going increasingly frequently, bringing men and materials to Golden Isle. McTavish had been dismissed and Jack Rutherford had come from Methven to deal with the accounts, so Robert said. Lucy was certain that something else was going on, but when she asked Robert he told her that he was merely strengthening the defenses against the French privateers that had been seen in northern waters. Jack, urbane and charming, said the same. Yet still Lucy wondered.

The wind was cool on her face. Evening was falling and the shadows were lengthening. She wrapped her shawl more tightly about her shoulders and walked a little more quickly back toward the harbor. Ahead of her she could see a group of the island women and children scavenging over the rocks, collecting driftwood. So few trees grew on Golden Isle that timber was always very highly prized.

The tide was coming in, sucking at Lucy's bare feet, the chill sting of the water making her shiver a little. The water splashed her dress and petticoat, splashed too on the rocks where the children were playing in and out of the pools. Their calls and cries reached Lucy on the stiff breeze. It felt peaceful and yet for some reason she also felt a premonition she could not shake. Something was wrong.

As she reached the quay she saw that Robert was there, and Jack. She felt the little lift of her heart that she always felt now on seeing her husband. She hurried her steps toward the harbor, but she had no time to call out a greeting. A strange hush had fallen over the crowd on the quay and they had turned out to sea where the sun was dropping into the water in a big ball of fire. In front of it, black against the fiery red, was a ship.

"The navy," someone murmured, and then the whisper ran around like wind through corn. "The press-gang...the gangers are here."

In the same moment someone turned and pointed away to the south where on the headland a beacon was flaring into life. "Attack! The village is under attack!"

Lucy felt the ripple of something go through Robert like lightning. "Cardross," he said. "He's come and he has brought the press-gang with him."

Lucy could feel the terror and the hatred in the crowd like a living thing. They had seen this before, witnessed the destruction of their lives. Robert grabbed her hands. "Get to the Auld Haa," he said. "Lock yourself in and come out for no man." He kissed her. "I'll come to you as soon as I can."

"No," Lucy said. Her repudiation was immediate. "I want to help, Robert." She turned and waved a hand toward the women and children in a ragged huddle on the quay. "Let me look after them. If Wilfred comes, then I can take care of myself. I'll cut him down with a broadsword."

A flicker of a smile lit Robert's tense face. "I know you could do that," he said, "but I can't let you. It's too dangerous." He pulled her to him and she felt the thunder of his heart against hers and the quick, impatient need in him to be away to defend his island. "You cannot risk your life, Lucy," he said. "This isn't just for me, though God knows I would do everything in my power to keep you safe. It's for Methven."

Lucy understood then. He was talking about the future, the promise of the heir she could even now be carrying. She felt terribly torn, wanting desperately to help, hating the thought of waiting helplessly for events to unfold, yet understanding how important it was to Robert, to the entire Methven clan, that she should be safe.

"Damn Wilfred," she said unsteadily. "You must go, Robert. Stop him." She threw a glance over her shoulder to where the gangers' longboat was making its steady way ashore. "I know you won't let them take any more men," she said, "but be careful. The gangers answer to no laws and respect no man."

Robert gave her another hard kiss that for all its brevity shook her to her soul.

"Come back to me," she whispered. "It takes two of us to make an heir for Methven." She drew back a little. "Besides, I love you and have no desire to be a widow quite yet."

"I love you too," Robert said. He kissed her again, longer, deeper, before releasing her and turning away to where the men waited for him.

Lucy walked slowly up the road to the Auld Haa in the gathering twilight. When she reached the gate, though, she hesitated. Ahead of her the road wound uphill toward the northern beacon. It had not been lit, which meant that no one had warned the crofters to the north of the island that they were in danger of attack. Again the sense of premonition tickled down Lucy's neck. Wilfred had set fire to the crofts in the south. The press-gang were sweeping in from the west. But what if there was another attack here, on the vulnerable, unprotected crofts to the north? Golden Isle was riven with inlets and coves. Men could come ashore in any number of places and spring an attack before anyone had guessed.

Grabbing the smoldering torch that lit the entrance to the Auld Haa, Lucy hurried up the track toward the beacon a few hundred yards ahead. The stony track slipped beneath the soles of her shoes. Away to her left, Golden Water shimmered in the last of the setting sun. The cold wind breathed gooseflesh down her spine. She felt as though someone was watching her. She thrust the torch into the heart of the kindling and turned back to the road, relief in her heart.

"Not so fast, cousin."

Wilfred Cardross was standing directly in front of her, no more than a black shadow against the cobalt blue of the night dark sea. Behind him were five of his clansmen. Lucy could hear the beacon fire hiss and spit as it roared higher. At least it was too late for Wilfred to douse it now, and soon it would be seen from the crofts. They would know to rally their defenses.

Wilfred was walking slowly toward her. She could see his face now in the livid light of the flames. He was dressed in all his finery, foppish laces and bows, but the expression in his eyes was feral, a contrast to the refined elegance of his attire. Lucy's heart thumped. She raised her chin defiantly and met his eyes.

"Wilfred," she said. "I see you have brought more men this time. How wise of you."

"Cousin Lucy," Wilfred swept her a bow. "How charming to find you here. I do thank you for saving me the trouble of coming to look for you."

He gestured with his head and the clansmen moved forward. Their expressions were hungry. Lucy felt the fear claw at her throat and beat it back.

"How neglectful of Methven to leave you to fend for yourself," Wilfred said contentedly. "He should have been more careful in protecting his property."

"My husband," Lucy said, "is protecting his clan, a concept I believe you are unfamiliar with, Wilfred. You steal from yours, don't you? Rob them and steal their cattle and burn their houses?"

Cardross laughed. He was looking to the south where a line of fire now marked the devastation his men were wreaking on the island. "There is precious little left to protect here," he said. "The press-gang will take the remaining islanders and all the Methven men, as well." His gaze came back to fasten on her. "And when I take you, that will be the end."

He came a step closer. Lucy could see his face in the firelight. He was smiling. He was enjoying this. She backed against the rough stone of the beacon wall, groping for the handle of the torch she had brought with her. Her fingers grazed the stone, felt the lick of the heat. At all costs she had to keep Wilfred from guessing what she was about. He thought she was not armed; she did not want to give away the element of surprise.

"What's the matter?" she said contemptuously. "Are you afraid I will push you over if you come too close, Wilfred?"

Wilfred raised his sword point and touched her beneath the chin. Lucy felt the prick of the blade against her throat.

"I'm not afraid of you," Wilfred said. "Nor of your laird." He raised his head, listening. "Here he comes."

There was the scrape of hooves on stone in the road, one horseman, alone. Lucy turned her head sharply and felt the sword bite deeper. A trickle of blood ran down her neck.

"Methven!" Wilfred had raised his voice. "I am so glad you got my message. I have your woman."

"No-" Lucy began, but Wilfred moved the sword over her breast, to rest against her heart.

Robert walked forward into the circle of the firelight. He was alone. Immediately four of Wilfred's clansmen surrounded him.

"Ah, Methven," Wilfred said courteously. "Throw down your sword, there's a good fellow." When Robert did not immediately comply, he pressed a little harder against Lucy's breast. Lucy bit her lip hard between her teeth to smother her gasp.

Robert threw down the sword. His gaze never left Lucy's face.

"Good," Wilfred said. He shifted, the sword moving over Lucy's breast like a caress. "There is something you should know, Methven," he said. "Your lovely wife has been betraying you." His sword flicked Lucy's bodice, tearing a gaping rent in it and leaving a long scratch on the white skin of her breast. Lucy caught her breath at the sting.

"Betrayal," Wilfred repeated, smiling a little as he admired his handiwork. "It is so ugly, is it not?"

Lucy's heart was starting to race. She felt sick nausea rise in her throat. She knew Wilfred was reveling in this. When she had bested him by the loch he had been humiliated. This was his revenge.

"I fear," Wilfred said silkily, "that you will get no heirs from your wife's body." Again the sword flicked. There was another tear in the gown now, crossing the first, so that Lucy's bodice fell farther apart and the slivers of material floated to the ground like falling leaves. Looking down, she saw another cut from his sword on her breast. The pain followed a second later. It was sharp and the blood showed red in the firelight.

Wilfred smiled. He gave another flick of the wrist and now her bodice was in tatters, shredded, the gleaming skin of her breasts exposed in the firelight. Robert made an instinctive movement and immediately Wilfred's men pressed closer to hold him back. Lucy raised a hand to cover herself, but Wilfred raised the point of his sword to her throat again.

"Keep still, coz," Wilfred said.

Someone laughed. Lucy saw a pulse beat in Robert's jaw. His muscles were locked with tension. And still he did not speak.

Wilfred's attention had come back to her. "Speaking of betrayals, cousin Lucy," he said softly, "your maid will do anything for a handful of gold. She was the one who sold your secrets to me."

Lucy felt the nausea rise in her throat. She thought of Sheena standing in the bedchamber at the Auld Haa with the pot of pennyroyal in her hand. She felt dizzy with shock and disbelief. Wilfred raised his voice. "Your deceitful wife, Methven, visited the wisewoman to purchase a brew to ensure that she never conceived a child. All the time you were plowing her-" the sword skipped down between Lucy's breasts to point lewdly to the junction of her thighs "-she was ensuring that she would not fall pregnant. Whilst you waited for the good news of an heir, she knew it would never be. She has betrayed you as surely as if she handed your estates to me."

"It wasn't like that." Lucy found her voice. It was raw from the smoke, pleading. "It was never like that! Robert, I swear-"

Robert ignored her words. He was looking only at Wilfred.

"Let her go, Cardross," he said.

Wilfred laughed. "Lady Lucy comes with me," he said. "I've waited a long time for my sport with her. When I've done I'm sure my men will want their share too." He had taken Lucy's arm now, his fingers biting into the flesh above the elbow. One of his men had come forward to her other side. Lucy reached back a little farther and felt the end of the torch slide into her grasp. The flames scorched her palm, but she gritted her teeth against the pain.

"Come along, coz," Wilfred said. "You won't be so dainty with me by the time I have finished with you." As he jerked Lucy forward, Robert let out a roar. He spun around on the closest of Wilfred's clansmen, knocking him off balance, leaping aside as the other three men piled in on him. He grabbed the fallen man's sword and turned to face his assailants, laying one of them out with the flat of his sword and making short work of a second. In the same moment Lucy brought her arm around in an arc, bringing the flaming torch swinging in to Wilfred's body. Wilfred screamed as the fire caught at his lacy sleeves and burned. He let go of her and ran. She heard the splash as he leaped into Golden Water.

Lucy swung the torch back toward the other man who had been standing foolishly gaping at her, mouth open in shock. He backed off with a yelp and ran, Robert hastening him on his way with a wicked slashing of his blade. Some of the Methven men were coming running now, encircling the pond where Wilfred still splashed and swore, two of them running up to engage Wilfred's remaining clansmen.

Lucy dropped the torch back into the fire. She was shaking so much she could barely stand. Robert had reached her side in two strides. For a brief moment his hands rested on her shoulders as he surveyed Wilfred's handiwork, the slashed bodice, the angry-looking crisscross of cuts on her breast. His expression was flat with murderous fury.

"If you had not set fire to him," Robert said, "I would have killed him myself for what he did to you."

"It's only a scratch," Lucy said. Her teeth were chattering. "It was for show, to humiliate and frighten me."

Robert's hands fell to his side. "You must get back to the house and have it tended," he said.

For a long moment he looked at her, but there was no gentleness or warmth in his gaze. Then he said, very quietly. "I know what Cardross said was true. I saw it in your eyes."

He turned and walked back to where his horse was tethered. Lucy ran after him. Her heart was cracking.

"Robert, wait!" she called. "Please let me explain-"

Robert half turned toward her. He made a sharp gesture and she stopped.

"Was it true?" he said. "About the tincture?"

"Yes," Lucy said, "But-"